#((dabs))

Never beating the lazy fat stoner allegations

My fan sites are only $3 until my birthday, May 19th 2026!

I am DESPERATE for content of this yapper I love him sm 

Opportunities

Ever since the. . . incident, as most have taken to calling it, Blurr has found that Cybertron isn’t the home it once was. His hab is small. The streets are narrow. The buildings are too high. It feels like he can’t think, like gravity is crushing him back down, back into that horrid shape-!

It’s why he’s here. He ran as fast as he could, out to the far edges of the city, where buildings give way into wasteland, into a gentle slope that rises up to the surface of the planet. For all his space travels as an intelligence agent, he has never gone to the surface.

It’s barren there. Nothing but nature, the Cybertronian equivalent. Blurr has heard Bumblebee comment on it, something about how Prowl actually preferred Earth’s nature to that of Cybertron, since here it was so sparse. So little of it.

To Blurr, that sounds perfect. Nothing around. No walls to crush him. No bots to suffocate him, to make him feel like he has to watch his back, to be aware, be ready for the attack yet to come-

“You just go forward.”

Blurr whips around, spark nearly floating out of his frame until he registers the familiar paint job as you. The civilian he's seen around, friends with some of his fellow agents, always there at the casual outings.

You’re smiling at him, calm as can be. “There’s a little tunnel up there in the darkness. Past it is the surface.”

"The-surface-is-strictly-off-limits-for-civilian-bots-such-as-yourself." Blurr scolds, because in this moment all he can do is fall back on protocol. He hasn't step foot inside central command in cycles, unable to face the prisoner being held there, yet it's still there, ingrained into his very processor. "You-should-not-be-going-there-on-your-own-without-an-escort-of-Elite-Guard-status-because-you-will-most-certainly-get-yourself-injured-or-worse-killed-by-whatever-dangers-lurk-up-there-be-them-creatures-of-unusual-size-or-Decepticons-!"

You cut him off by strolling right past him, sending Blurr into a stammer of noises and static from the audacity of it all. "Good thing you're here then, Elite Guard Agent Blurr." With a kick of your pedes, you start a slow jog up the incline, following a path you must've walked a thousand times before. "Coming, greased lightning?"

"That-is-NOT-my-name!"

But still, Blurr follows you up into the blinding light of orbiting stars.

It's far better than he had hoped. He's reminded of Earth, in a way, or at least parts of it. The horizon stretches on for miles, curving over the edge where the endless skies come down to meet it. There are no trees here, just dusty ground and distant mountains that stab into the clouds lingering above them. It's all so open, without walls, without streets, without limits.

You glance at him, haloed by one of the stars, and point off into the wide forever. "There's some spaceship ruins that way. A straight shot, hard to miss." Your smile curves into something mischievous. "Wanna race, zipster?"

You're transforming and disappearing in a cloud of dust before Blurr can snap at you again for the silly nickname.

Not one to be outdone, Blurr is quick to transform. With no obstacles and a field of view that extends so far, he can really put the speed on. His engine roars with delight, shaking and expanding with the heat. Blurr can feel himself grow, practically, no longer pinned down by dangers in the peripherals.

It's just the open world, and you eating his dust.

Pride thrums through his circuits when the crash appears on the horizon. Blurr makes his transformation back into root mode flashy and brash, like how he used to whenever he won races, back before Cybertron went to war. You blaze up behind him, laughing heartily at his silly pose, before you transform yourself.

You rock with the momentum, still laughing, taking large steps not fall over. Blurr smacks his shoulder into yours to help, mirth crackling through his spark to see your optics so bright, your smile so wide and carefree.

"Check this out." You say, trotting around the wreckage, scorched metal and shattered glass. There's a pile of machines, some of which Blurr can almost recognize, and others he has no clue their function. You're transfixed on a certain one, with little wheels and broken panels that almost look like wings. "Bots that went exploring around the galaxy found all this cool stuff and just dumped it here cause they figured it was useless."

"It-certainly-doesn't-look-like-it-has-any-use." Blurr scoffs. He flicks a little wheel, frowning at how it resists turning. "Poorly-made-and-without-any-sort-of-proper-metal-coating-or-lubricant-to-aid-in-these-rusting-gears. And-is-that-dirt-I-see? So-poorly-maintained! No-wonder-it-was-scrapped!"

"But it wasn't!" You protest, fiddling with the most primitive circuit boards he's ever seen. But the machine twitches and sparks under your servos, blaring static that morphs into. . . words. "Listen."

"Earth." Blurr breathes.

"Her name is Oppy," you say, smiling as the small camera on the machine starts to turn side to side in jerky little movements. "She lost power somewhere far away from home, but she's here now. I'm going to take her home."

"I-do-not-believe-foreign-machines-qualify-as-pets-by-communal-apartment-standards."

You snort. "No. . . I'm taking her to Earth. Her home. Listen to the signals, Blurr, can't you hear how they miss her? She needs to go home."

Blurr stands there in silence, watching you dust the little machine off, blow away the dirt and grime, wiggle the wires, get it running again, if at a reduced capacity. Your optics are focused, determined. You're as serious as can be, wanting to fly out to a far away planet you've never seen before, just to return something not alive to a group of people he knows will not care half as much to see their busted machine returned.

But he's been wrong before.

"You-will-need-escorts-of-Elite-Guard-status." Blurr says. You nod, shoulders slumping, but he's not finished talking. "We-will-need-to-procure-a-vessel-with-adequate-defense-systems-and-shields-in-case-of-attack."

"We?" You echo. You're smiling again, and Blurr finally notices how pretty it is.

"We-will-also-need-plenty-of-supplies-to-keep-us-functioning-during-the-trip."

"I can stock up!"

"Perhaps-I-will-ask-some-of-my-coworkers-if-they-will-join. More-servos-run-a-ship-easier-and-will-be-of-aid-in-case-of-attack. If-we-get-one-Optimus-Prime's-! Or-is-he-Magnus-now? I-do-not-remember-but-one-of-his-previous-team-members-would-be-happy-to-join-us-no-doubt-!"

Blurr's cut off by your arms wrapping around his chassis. It's a brief squeeze that sends his spark fluttering, but the pressure somehow soothes him as much as it works him up. He hasn't been touched really since he recovered from his incident, and the last hug he received was. . . stellar cycles ago.